


sea-worn hands

by pippen2112



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Campaign 2 (Critical Role), Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Mirror Sex, Obedience, Orders, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-22
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-27 12:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18194501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pippen2112/pseuds/pippen2112
Summary: Fjord squeezes his eyes closed, his toes curling against the floorboards as he slowly strokes himself. He swipes his thumb over the head, shivers at the rasp of friction, and holds in a moan. He’s close. Perilously close. But he can’t come yet. Not without permission.





	sea-worn hands

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sydwtr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydwtr/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Good With Ropes](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16894983) by [sydwtr](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sydwtr/pseuds/sydwtr). 



> I want to thank sydwtr's fic "Good With Ropes" for inspiring this fic, and a big huge shout out to Erica for letting me use her yellow eye headcanon for this smutty, smutty garbage.
> 
> This fic was inspired by the prompts "mirrors/doubles," "gags/silence," and "praise kink."

Fjord squeezes his eyes closed, his toes curling against the floorboards as he slowly strokes his cock. He swipes his thumb over the head, shivers at the rasp of friction, and holds in a moan. He’s close. Perilously close. But he reaches his free hand down and tugs at his sac to stave off his urge. He can’t come yet. Not without permission.

Heavy footfalls cross the length of the room, and sea-worn hands settle on Fjord’s shoulders. "Eyes open, boy," Vandren says, his drawl rolling and rough like the sea turning a storm.

Something stirs inside him, the need to please his mentor warring against his self-consciousness. Sure, Fjord’s had his fair share of sex before, but those have all been quick encounters, hastily negotiated in the dark, over nearly as soon as they’ve begun. But the kind of thing he’s exploring with Vandren is new and overwhelming. He likes it, but it’s.... It’s a lot.

Vandren’s hand wraps around his throat, a heavy presence that leaves him shuddering. “Don’t make me ask again, boy.”

He’s half-tempted to disobey just to see what Vandren will do about it, but that’s for another night. Instead, he exhales and blinks down at his bare torso. At his thickened, ruddy cock laying heavy against his palm. At the simple chair he’s seated in and the swaying of the _Tides’ Breath_ under him.

With a quiet huff, Vandren twists one of his nipples hard; Fjord just barely bites back a gasp. Chapped lips press to the shell of his ear. “Eyes forward. Now.”

Looking forward is probably the last thing he wants to do--he’d rather cut out his tongue than look up--but he’s yet to find one of Vandren’s orders he won’t follow. Swallowing hard, Fjord raises his head and looks straight forward.

The mirror is a needless extravagance, one Fjord was surprised the captain sought out when they last made port. A gaudy antique they stumbled upon in an island junk shop, tarnished and grimey but unwarped and in tact. Vandren had even paid full price for it, barely taking his eyes off the thing. If he’d known then what Vandren had planned for the mirror, Fjord would’ve dropped it while hauling it back to the ship, hell with the seven years bad luck.

Now, after dark in the captain’s quarters, Fjord’s set up centered on the mirror. Instead of looking at his own candle-lit reflection, he looks up at Vandren, at the heat flaring in his captain’s golden gaze, and hopes he’s satisfied.

Vandren crouches down behind him, holding Fjord’s gaze as he rests his chin on Fjord’s shoulder, caressing his throat. “Now, what’re you doing looking at me when there’s a far better sight to behold?”

His cheeks burn, but Fjord knows better than to answer a rhetorical question.

Rolling his eyes, Vandren shakes his head and ghosts his hands down Fjord’s sides, nails rasping gently over his belly. “If I looked the way you do, boy, I wouldn’t be busting my ass on a ship, slumming with a fellow like me. I’d set myself up nice in a port down, batting my eyes at passing sailors and earning my coin the old fashioned way.”

Cock twitching in his grasp, Fjord blushes and glances to the side. “I’m not--”

“Quiet, boy,” Vandren snaps, tweaking hard at his other nipple, hard enough Fjord arches after him to lessen the ache. He swallows another moan, breathing heavily as Vandren releases the nub and rolls his thumb around it to lessen the pain. “When I’m ready to hear you sing for me, you’ll know.”

He bites his lip against an apology. When Vandren sat him down in front of the mirror, stripped naked with a few teasing touches to rile him up, his only orders had been to stay quiet, keep stroking himself, and not come. And no matter how good it feels, how close he teeters to the edge of orgasm, Fjord toes the line, tormenting himself until Vandren tells him to stop.

But being quiet when he finally has the privacy to enjoy himself is harder than it sounds.

“And keep touching yourself,” Vandren says, pairing it with a sharp bite. A groan resonates low in his chest, but Fjord bites his tongue and pumps his cock. His grip is looser than he’d like, but he doesn’t trust himself to hold back if he squeezes any tighter. “That’s it. Keep stroking that pretty cock for me. Nice and slow. I know you wanna go ass-up and beg for a fuck, but not tonight. Tonight, I just wanna watch you squirm.”

Fjord jerks in his seat, heat surging low in his gut. Eyes squeezed shut, he struggles to hold out, to keep quiet, to do as he’s told. He grips tight around the base of his dick, clenching hard to stop his orgasm for a solid ten seconds before fondling himself again.

“Just like that. All that need twitching under your skin. It’s eating you alive, isn’t it? But you can’t stop now, can you? Not when you’re this close.” Vandren noses at his hairline, hands curling around his hips and pinning him in his seat. He growls, “Now, open your eyes.”

He looks in the mirror, and for a split second, he thinks he sees it: his broad shoulders that have finally filled out after years of labor, his trim waist, the heaving of his chest at every ragged breath. His vertant skin, flushed and almost rosy in places. His bitten, swollen lips, the faint nubs of his tusks, his dark, lust-blown eyes. He gasps, letting go of his dick as his jaw goes slack. He’s… He looks…

Practically purring, Vandren digs his nails into Fjord’s hips and says, “Good boy. Now, let me hear you.”

His head tips back from the force of his moan. Then Vandren takes his cock in hand, and Fjord bucks into the tight, calloused grip, fucking into his fist and taking every ounce of pleasure he’s given. Gasping. Groaning. Crying. “Please,” he whimpers. “Please, sir.”

Vandren chuckles. “Such a good boy. You’ve done well. Come when you’re ready.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, Fjord tenses all over and spills with a shout. Come splatters across his stomach, and he quivers as Vandren strokes him through the aftershocks. His free arm wraps around Fjord and holds him close as he shakes and melts. Vandren rubs a possessive hand over his stomach and raises a come-coated finger to his lips. Floating dreamily, Fjord sucks him clean with a lazy grin.

“Good boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Questions, comments, and concrit welcome!


End file.
